Sometimes I like being the big spoon.

Y’know. When you’re wrapped around someone, arms holding tight, both on your sides.

Usually I’m the little spoon at night, right before we go to bed. It’s always been that way, even when I had to cover up. It didn’t matter to him. My skin. He’d still wrap those strong arms around me, pull me in tight, nose in my hair. At first I had put up more of a fight, which just ended up in a ‘who’s more dangerous’ contest that lasted a good while.

We both woke up cranky the next morning.

No protests now. No arguments. No danger.

It’s nice. It’s better than nice. It’s a normal part of being with someone I never thought I’d have.

But what happens at night isn’t the best part.

No, while I like being the little spoon – and when it comes to Logan there’s no question, I am little compared to him - I think I might like being the big spoon even more. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still the smaller one, but in the mornings, when we’re both drifting in and out of sleep, slowly moving back toward the center of the bed, finding each other again in brief touches or a possessive caress…sometimes I get to be the big spoon.

I get to wrap my arms – my small arms, my now safe arms – around that big barrel chest of his. They never make it all the way around, but that’s hardly the point. I rest the side of my face against his bare back and greedily soak up his warmth and at least try and get one hand to find his heart beat, maybe hear a pre-coffee growl here and there. No, these arms never fully embrace him like his do when he’s the big spoon, but it doesn’t matter.

What matters is that he lets me.

The Wolverine trusts me with his back to me, with holding him in the mornings.

So while I’ll never turn down a chance to be his little spoon, I still like it when I sometimes get to be the big spoon too.